There's a parallel universe where Ravi Jadhav has made a movie of the same name. There he uses Banjo the instrument, which is a staple for street celebrations in Mumbai, as a metaphor for the music and culture that comes along with it. He fuses them seamlessly with the hip, urban culture that Mumbai is synonymous with and therefore addresses the issue of the lakhs living with lesser means and circles their stamp on the city, which largely goes unnoticed. Banjo the film gives them and the instrument the respect that it deserves.

Cut to the real world, where Banjo as a film uses the instrument as a metaphor. It creates this setting where the hero's performances are heavily choreographed with impeccable production value. Ravi Jadhav tries to make a case for respecting those living with lesser means, juxtaposing them with the other, better-off Mumbai and ticks every cliche in the book while doing so. Thus, as a Nargis Fakhri in hot-pants gets down from the cab in the middle of a slum colony, men fall backwards, the veggie seller gets distracted, all passers-by scan her from head to toe, before talking to her. This is also the kind of movie where all men meeting Nargis talk about the not-so-subtle hint of 'give and take'.

Banjo follows the story of a quartet of street musicians who are a regular at the annual Ganeshotsav, Navratri where they make some extra money performing for people in the mood for loud, celebratory music. They are paid a visit by a New York-based producer who just happens to be a girl, because how else would you show ample cleavage and hot-pants in the slums of Mumbai? And that too of an angrezi-spouting, fair chick. Thank God for Nargis Fakhri, what a challenge it would've been casting for the role.

Ravi Jadhav made the lovely Natrang starring Atul Kulkarni, and it is a known fact that subtlety is not his strongest suit. But the contrivances in Banjo are so cheesy and in-your-face, you can't help but grin. In a particular scene, Nargis's character is fed up with the band for not playing according to her instructions and shortly after an emotional outburst, she receives a call from her mother. She spends about five minutes explaining to her mother how she's doing fine with the occasional sniffle, she also adds how everyone's taking care of her and at the end not a single tear is shed. That explains the vacant emotional quotient of Banjo. A lot of heart-strings are tugged at, but not a *single* tear comes out.

The actors playing the band members in Banjo, including Ritesh Deshmukh, are all pretty entertaining in their roles. Riteish, as Tarat, plays the local goon with a heart of gold plus a magician with a Banjo in his hand. Dharmesh Yelande is Grease, a recurring joke is made on his dark skin-tone and his affection for the colour white. Amit Kumar as Paper also adds to the comic relief in the movie. The humour is your street-smart Mumbai sarcasm. People who have lived in the city will even catch on to the lingo like 'matter ho gaya hai' which means 'there's a fight going down'.

Banjo the film's only high-point is Vishal-Shekhar's stellar soundtrack which is consistent till the finale act, even as the plot crumbles. Interestingly, in one of the scenes a greedy builder says, "Obviously you're not a woman, whose no also means a yes." Even as it is believable that a greedy builder would say it out loud, it's just bad timing Mr Jadhav. Especially, a week after Pink's release where Amitabh Bachchan shoves it down the audience's throats - "No, is an entire sentence by itself."

But those are still the little details. The makers of Banjo should have focused on the bigger issues like a less contrived script, a better-acted film, and a movie slightly closer to what Mr Jadhav would have made in the parallel universe.